


Our Moment In The Sun

by lea_ysaye



Series: There's No Waking From The Horror [1]
Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dark fic, Hurt, M/M, Masturbation, Rickyl, right after ep 7x05 (Service)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 23:24:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8820466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lea_ysaye/pseuds/lea_ysaye
Summary: Alone in his cell, Daryl remembers Rick.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Another one-shot from 7A. No spoilers this time.
> 
> Title is a line from _Easy Street_. Sorry.

Rick was on his mind all the way back from Alexandria. The way he'd looked at him, with that gaze that ever only sees him, in the entire world.

_“Daryl, you ok?”_

He closes his eyes against the stinging of tears. For once his cell is quiet. Dwight has forgotten the music. He has also forgotten the dog food. Daryl isn’t sorry. There’s a constant, dull ache in his belly, and the trash they keep feeding him makes it worse.

Alone with his thoughts, for once. And all he can think about is Rick.

_“I’d like to ask if Daryl could stay.”_

A stab through the heart, animal fear. Negan would punish Rick for this. Or him, again, he was so sure. He held his breath, heart racing, lights swimming before his eyes, until that monster laughed his grotesque laugh. When he heard that sound echoing from the surrounding buildings and the metal wall he relaxed, allowed his mind to leave again, flee this broken body, the pain in his chest, his head, his gut.

He should sleep. Who knows how long until Dwight remembers he forgot to put on _Easy Street_.

But there’s another ache, a new one. It started with Rick’s eyes on him, so full of sorrow and tears. He aches for Rick, aches to feel those arms, those gentle fingers, the caress on his skin as he wakes from sleep. Being touched, being held. Being safe.

His hand moves on its own and pushes under the dirty, coarse fabric of the prison uniform. If he closes his eyes, and concentrates hard, he can almost feel Rick, hear his voice.

_“Daryl…”_

He should be too sore, too tired, too broken for this, but when his fingers slide past the waistband of the scratchy sweatpants he’s already hard.

The hand on his own dick feels alien. He hasn't jerked off in forever. At home there’s no need, he and Rick find each other whenever they need to. Whenever they’re not too busy, too tired, or too heartbroken.

His Rick. How he misses him.

He knows he deserves to suffer, for getting Glenn killed, for being an idiot. But he can’t suppress that niggle of disappointment, the memory of that split second in which he’d hoped Negan would grant Rick’s request.

Rick’s laugh, that gentle smile he has, just for him. Those blue eyes, full of love and respect and concern for him. That low voice that calms him like nothing else can.

His Rick. He conjures their last night together, weeks ago now. How Rick’s body felt, pressed into him. How his hands had found all the right places. How Rick had trembled and sighed, and moved above him.

How he’d whispered his name, as they both came on their joint heartbeat, as one.

_“Daryl, oh Daryl…”_

“Rick,” he whispers now, and feels tears run down his temples. “Rick, oh Rick…”

He comes, hot and fast, into his hand, the taste of salt on his lips, the sound of approaching footsteps in his ears.


End file.
